


help yourself (no one else will)

by likeabomb



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Crying, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Vaginal Fingering, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: After crashing into an alien planet, things look grim. After learning his father won't live to see the month's end, things seem REALLY grim. Scott Summers tries to find as much agency and control over his life, what's left of it at least, as he can.
Relationships: Scott Summers/Christopher Summers
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937239
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: DC and Marvel Kinktober Fills





	help yourself (no one else will)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of a personalized Kinktober list that I'm doing with a few friends!  
> Check the rest of the collection for not only my other days, but their contributions to this month too!
> 
> Day 4 (Incest Kink/Play)

“You left.” Scott puts his hands up in surrender, ducking his head a little, “It wasn’t your choice. I get that. But when you could,” he clarifies, staring at his father dead on, “you didn’t come back.”

Christopher stares at his son, taller than he’d left him, but not quite the man he knows he’ll one day become. He has a strong jaw, though, and it makes his heart ache. 

He has nothing to say in argument. As much as he could explain about this side of things, or that, Scott’s right. He could have come home to his boys. He could have spared them a terrible life, and been in their lives.

When he closes his eyes, Scott scoffs a soft sound and gets up from the campfire to head into the shell of the ship they’d crashed planetside. 

Neither of them knows where they are. In Scott’s case, that’s understandable. In Corsair’s, though, it’s upsetting. It makes something knot in his gut whenever he’s not actively trying to be strong for his son. This hasn’t been easy for either of them, and finding out that his father is chronically ill with medicine due to run out in less than a month- Of course he’s mad. Christopher would be too, probably.

He sits by the fire for another long while, and after he snuffs it for the night and comes back to the gutted, twisted ship, he feels a bit like how the ship looks.

Laying down in one of the beds, one leg hangs off the side, and his arm stays over his belly. He stares at the walls, the ceiling, the shattered window and the crunched and collapsed metal. Outside these pathetic walls is an entire planet. Sure, they’ve been doing well to survive and eat and ward off predators they can see lurking in the trees sometimes. But a month is a month. 27 days, to be exact, and then Christopher is probably going to die on the beach in his son’s arms. Or, he’ll be dragged out, crumbling to pieces with just a glimmer of hope that he can hang on one day extra, and Scott won’t be able to wake him.

It would serve him right, he thinks.

Pulling his pillow over his head so he stops sweet talking Death herself, Christopher heaves a sigh.

When he lets the pillow fall away, Scott is standing in the middle of the room.

“You’re still up,” he says gently, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Scott explains. His jaw is tight and even without being able to see his eyes, Corsair knows that Scott isn’t meeting his eye. He looks away enough he won’t make him increasingly more uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry… about before,” he tries to offer.

Scott stiffens more, and crosses to his bed. For a moment, Christopher thinks he might sit beside the bed, or lean down for a hug. Instead, Scott climbs up onto the bed and lays himself down on the other side of it, between his father and the wall. His expression is stubborn, drawn, grumpy.

Christopher huffs a soft laugh, “You gonna lay facing me with your arms crossed all night?”

Grinding his teeth a little, he watches Corsair before rolling over.

For a long while, he stays there, stiff as a board, but when the draft from this side of the room gets to him, he lets down his walls enough to shiver.

Pulling the blanket up and around him, Christopher rolls over onto his side. He reaches to card fingers through Scott’s hair gently before kissing the back of his head and resigning himself to keep his son warm through the night tonight.

When he moves his hand to brush up and down his arm, Scott reaches to grab his hand, and pulls him closer, wiggling a little, and then shifts his hips. Christopher balks a little, but doesn’t say anything at first. It’s- it’s not nothing. It’s fine.

Scott doesn’t let up, though, and pulls his hand a little until he’s forcing it between his thighs. 

It registers that his son’s cunt is hot and wet, even through his thin sleep pants, and Christopher pulls his hand back hard.

“Scott!”

Scott turns over enough to look at him, and the set of his brows and the frown tugging at his face helps a little to ready him for the anger that follows.

“Don’t you give me that,  _ Corsair _ .”

Swallowing hard, he stares at his son, an anger boiling in him that he’s only seen in him on the battlefield. 

“What are you doing, Scott?” Christopher asks, whisper quiet in the dark of the room.

“I don’t want you to look at me as your son.”

That feels like he’s being gutted. He doesn’t have an answer.

“You were gone. You didn’t come back. I spent six years in comas, being abused, being  _ tortured _ -I don’t even know where Alex  _ is _ . And you’ve been out here- longer than I even know, because I’m not where I should be, and you- you never went home to them. To the Scott and Alex  _ you _ know.”   
  
All the while Scott has been lowering his head, shaking a little with his anger, and then he looks up quickly, almost snarling.

“So why do you get to be a father? We’ve got 27 days, and you’re going to die, and I’m going to have to bury you. And there’s not going to be anyone to bury me. And I have to live with that!”

“You’re not going to-”   
  
“Whether I die a week after you, or twenty years, I’m not getting off this planet,  _ dad _ . No one’s going to know we’re even in trouble. They’re never going to know where to look. So I’m not going to spend the next 27 days with you, tiptoeing around things, and wishing I’d had seen more and done more.”

Scott seems awfully sure of this, and Christopher’s place in all this. He stares at his son longer, leaving him room to continue to try to explain himself. When he sees Scott isn’t going to add more, he tries.

“And you want to see more and do more by fucking your father.”

He pushes at Christopher’s chest, and lets out a soft but angry sob, “Stop! I’m so- just stop. You weren’t. You  _ aren’t _ .”

Christopher reaches slowly, and carefully, while he tries to figure out just how to help him. They both know they’re going to die out here. Corsair had just been thinking about all the ways he could leave his son behind. And Scott is right, he’s still right. At the end of the day, he never went home to his boys. He should have. That was his own mistake. And a price they paid.

And now his son is trying anything he can to be close to him, to spend the time they have left together as best he can. He seems to think that means sex.

A month is not a long time to spend at arms length with each other. But if help doesn’t come, and Corsair dies, it would have been the last month he’d have had, spent at odds. This, though... It’s wrong. Christopher knows it’s wrong. 

He wants to stand strong with his convictions, that help could be five minutes away. The more they’re left with it, though, the less hope he can put in that. He has to, though, for Scott’s sake, if not his own.

But… maybe if it’s what Scott wants, and how he’s decided he stands, that Christopher can indulge him in this last wish. To see more, and feel more, before they both die a couple of terribly lonely deaths.

Scott is still stiff when Christopher’s hand finds his shoulder, and when his hand moves to his hip from his elbow, and tucks up under his arm to feel over his ribs, Scott looks back up at him slowly.

“You’re already grieving,” Christopher says gently, and reaches with his other hand to push his fingers through Scott’s short hair. “I’ve hurt you so badly, my baby.”   
  
Pulling a hard breath that Corsair can  _ hear _ is tight and wet with tears, he cups his son’s face and Scott full sobs, burying his face into his hand, and then, crushingly, into his chest. His goggles dig into his sternum, but he doesn’t push him away.   
  
Christopher holds his son, and thinks about all the times he’s held him. When he was born, on the nights he just couldn’t be consoled, when he scraped his knee on the playground- He loves his son, his baby, with all he’s got- both of them- but circumstances as they are, it’s the least he can do to try to make him as happy as he can for the remainder of the time they have.

27 days isn’t a very long time, and they’re already rocketing towards it.

“Are you sure it’s what you want, Scott? I don’t want to hear you talking about your old man with all that hate. What I did wasn’t right, but I’m here now. And I’m sorry.”

Sniffling hard, Scott tries, but catches another sob. His grip is tight, his fingers digging in like claws. He really is grieving. Christopher has no idea what kind of life he left his sons, because it was always too painful to ask. To hear the fate he left them with, and to know he’d done it willingly. Not at first, but later. Hearing the words  _ abuse _ and  _ torture _ really kind of put things into a heartbreaking perspective.

“You want to feel good, and feel close to me, before we can’t anymore.”

Nodding against him, Scott finally pulls himself free and scrunches his face enough to pull off his goggles and scrub at his face, dragging fresh and drying tear tracks across his cheeks. Christopher catches his hands when he tries to put them back on almost immediately. He jolts and keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Dad.”

Christopher makes a soft shushing noise and uses the corner of the blanket to clean the condensation from the inside of the lenses, “Trust me. If you want this, if you want to be close-” it’s so hard to put it into words when he knows it’s wrong- “you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I… do. I have this whole time,” Scott says gently, keeping his eyes shut tight, “I am right now.”

His father understands just how much trust is put behind allowing him to clean his goggles like this, and when he hands them back, Scott pulls them on again. He relaxes visibly with them on, and this close, Christopher can see his eyes through the tint. He holds his jaw gently, thumbing over his cheek, and sighs before pressing his forehead to Scott’s.

This whole thing is so fucked up, and it’s all his fault. He brought Scott out alone. He got into the fight with the mercenaries after his head. He could have been so much better off if he’d kept his head down and thought of his son’s safety, rather than his incessant need to peacock himself around all the time.

It’s gotten them not only in a shit situation, stranded on a hostile alien planet, but it’s also gotten… his son asking for sex out of desperation to just be close for what little time they have left. Christopher wants to tell him no, to try to make the time full in other ways, but he hasn’t been a good father so far. No sense in starting now.

Sniffling again, Scott rolls back over, back to Christopher again, and tucks himself in the way he had been. His movements are just a little more hesitant now that they’ve gotten the intent out in the open. Christopher already agreed, but it’s as though Scott doesn’t believe it- like he’s going to be scolded. He wants to ask the things his son has been through and seen, but he doesn’t. It won’t change things now, he knows, and he can only try to make this last month full of  _ love _ , even if that love is going to come in the form of… fucking his son.

Burying his face in the back of Scott’s head, he lets him pull his hand around to tuck between his legs again. 

This time, when he feels how warm and wet he is through his pants, he doesn’t pull back. It takes him a moment to finally break down the last of his convictions, and strokes two fingers, rubbing damp fabric against his cunt, higher against his clit.

Scott holds his arm and sighs gently, bucking his hips gently before shifting enough to lift his leg and open his hips up. 

Corsair keeps up the movements and listens to Scott make soft sighs and groans wrapped up in his arms. After a moment, he stops, voice thick and gentle above Scott, “You want more, baby boy?”   
  
Shivering hard, Scott’s fingers cling hard to his arm at the sweet name, and he nods, speaking up to voice it too, “Yeah- please, dad.”

Christopher’s eyes fall closed at the same kind of acknowledgement of family, but he moves his hand back up Scott’s belly to tuck into the hem of his pants and briefs. When his fingers tuck between his thighs again, Scott’s dripping. He starts with just one finger, spreading his wetness through his folds, and then carefully angling his wrist to press inside. He fingers his son slowly, carefully, and Scott rocks his hips eagerly, clenching hot around him.

He hears him shudder and shifts his leg more to hook it up over Christopher’s thigh. With him open and wet like this, he can add another thick finger, and Scott groans, shifting to set his head back against his father’s shoulder and chest. His chest heaves, and Corsair moves a hand over his belly, his ribs, and farther still before muttering, “Can I?”   
  
Scott nods a little more and helps pull his shirt up enough that Christopher can cup one of his small breasts, pinching his nipple to make him arch his back. When he wiggles his hips and squirms in his arms, he knows Scott can feel the heft of his cock, hard against the small of his back.

He keeps fingering him and pinching his nipples til they’re both stiff and ruddy, and it doesn’t take more at all to get him coming apart. Scott sobs as he comes, clinging like his life depends on it.

When he squeezes his father’s arm, it’s with a soft, “S-stop, ah, sensitive.”   
  
Pulling his fingers free, Corsair can see the string of his son’s cum on his digits.    
  
Scott’s voice comes again, still soft, and he can feel his gaze heavy on his hand, expectantly, “Are you going to clean it up?”   
  
Huffing a soft sound against his hair, Christopher licks his fingers clean as Scott watches and shivers pleasantly at the display. He sits up and Christopher hums, “Are you going back to your bed?”

“No,” he answers simply, and shifts, settling himself between his father’s thigh. Leaning in, he holds Christopher’s hips before trying to kiss along the bulge in his pants. The hesitation and nervousness crops up again, but he muscles through it.

When Corsair tries to stop him, to assure him he doesn’t need anything in return, Scott presses a few kisses to the curve of his cock, tonguing at the head and dampening the fabric. Breathing hot, he reaches to card fingers through Scott’s hair instead.

“Pants off,” Scott says gently, looking up at him, then adding, “Please.”   
  
Christopher lets it hang in the air for a moment, making sure Scott isn’t going to back down from this. And that he isn’t going to either.

He seems so sure of his decisions, and Corsair sees in him the conviction of the man he’s come to know as an ally, if not a son in the way he should have. He sees the fire in his eyes, so to speak, and it makes him nod slowly before hooking his thumbs in the back of his pants and shift and shuck off his pants, being careful to move his leg out of the way. With Scott insisting on being  _ between _ his legs, he has to take them all the way off, and it leaves him laid bare while his son is fully clothed, even if he can still smell the faintest whiff of his arousal.

When he’s unclothed and settled back on the bed farther, to be able to sit up more, Scott wiggles his way back in, making a home for himself between his father’s thighs. This time he doesn’t go right at it, and Christopher still huffs a soft breath, reaching for his hair. Scott allows it, and kisses his knee, then down his thigh a little.

He reaches to hold his sack, thumbing over it and rolling his balls gently. Christopher sighs a gentle sound and nods, “Just be gentle.”   
  
Scott takes it to heart and keeps up the easy contact, but doesn’t squeeze or jerk. Holding the base of his dick now, he can actually get a good look at it. Or as much as he’s able, given the goggles and the way they color his vision.

Corsair’s thumb brushes along the band to his googles as he thinks on it, and Scott looks up at him, rather than his cock, and he can feel the heat between them. Again, he’s hit with the realization that this is his son, his baby, and that they really shouldn’t- they could get home. They have to. 

Had the moment the crash occurred meant that Scott Summers, mutant revolutionary, ceased to exist? Because with an altered timeline, sudden and severe, it would have meant that he’d died as a teenager, after burying his father and battling a hostile alien planet before eventually succumbing himself. With no word in or out, there’s no real way for Christopher to know what has or hasn’t happened, to help him have hope and stock in whether or not Scott will make it out of this, even if he won’t.

He doesn’t have time to delve too deeply into the thoughts before his world is swimming with the feeling of a hot mouth on his cock. Lips gentle and suckling at the head, tongue flicking against the hole- Christopher’s no stranger to sex, but this is hot.

Chest heaving a little, he licks his lips before shifting a few locks of hair off Scott’s forehead, “You’re doin’ good. Take your time.” He licks his lips again, trying to keep his composure.

Scott gives him a look, but Corsair isn’t sure what he’s trying to convey before he shifts and starts to get to it. Using his tongue to wet the length of his shaft, Scott takes particular time to give the glans love, and it makes his head spin. He starts to take him into his mouth more, and while he does take it slow, he does well to just barely push himself as he eases into the feeling of his father’s cock in his mouth, just barely pushing at the top of his throat.   
  
When he’s fully pressed his nose to his groin, he swallows hard, hot, wet mouth clenching around him. Christopher groans, fingers tightening in his hair a little.

This can’t possibly be the first time Scott has ever sucked a dick.

He bobs his head after that, using his hand to chase his mouth and keep the pressure on enough up and down his entire cock. Shuddering a little, Corsair’s hips twitch as he focuses on not just fucking his son’s mouth.   
  
Pulling off with a little gasp, Scott shifts his legs together in that way Christopher knows means he’s still wet and aching. He glances up at him eagerly, “Tell me when you’re close?”   
  
Christopher nods, then adds dumbly, “Yeah, yes. I will.”   
  
A little nod, and Scott goes back to it with earnest. He groans a little too, letting go of Corsair’s balls to finger himself, rubbing quick circles against his clit as he sucks his father off. Through the haze of pleasure Christopher can see his eyes roll a little when he keeps pressing the head against the back of his throat. He’s so fucking good at this, and it’s incredibly hot, and incredibly concerning.

“S-shit, Scott, mm,” Christopher can feel that tight feeling deep in his gut and he shivers a few breaths before his legs shift a little, “That’s it, baby, just a little more-”   
  
Scott hollows his cheeks and works a little deeper, a little faster, and before Christopher has time to get out more than, “I’m-” he’s coming hard, and Scott settles himself to the root, throat working as he swallows down each spurt of his cum.

When he pulls off, it’s slowly and with a little cough, strings of saliva snapping from the head of his ruddy, spent cock, and his son’s lips. Scott licks his lips and smiles, satisfied with himself.

Christopher feels a little numb in his fingers and toes, but it’s a good kind of feeling. Like his head is full of cotton. He reaches a hand and Scott climbs up the bed, flopping himself down into the crook of his father’s arm and lays his arm across his chest unceremoniously.

Carding fingers through his hair, when he finally has it in him to speak up, he sighs gently, “Feel better, baby boy?”   
  
Scott huffs a soft laugh he can feel brush over his skin, and doesn’t answer. He reaches for the blanket at their feet and pulls it up, covering the both of them.

He stays right there, tucked into his father’s embrace, all night.


End file.
